*****
“You did well, me bucko, quite well. I’m impressed.” Roger leaned back in the chair and finished off his Campari and soda.
“It is not like that, Roger.”
“Well, whatever it’s like, old boy, I’m impressed. She was a handful right from the start and I couldn’t have done it without your running interference for me. Although, I must say, to get paid on top of your rapports sexuels seems a bit much under the circumstances, don’t you think?”
“I think life is good, Roger. Give me my half of the money.”
“Yes, well, next time, you go out and get muck up your pant legs and I’ll stay back to comfort the dove, eh?”
“Where did you find the girl?”
“You know where. Does it matter?”
Laurent shrugged and counted his euros.
“Don’t trust me, Laurent?”
“Anyone can make a miscalculation, Roger. Do not be offended.” He looked at his friend and held up his own drink. “And I think I have miscalculated how long this business will take.”
“What do you mean?”
“I need to go to the US to finish the job.”
“Oh, really? Well, that’s up to you, of course.” Bentley stood and dropped a few coins onto the table. “But I’d be careful, old son. They do things quite differently in America. Take it from me.” He clapped the big Frenchman on the shoulder. “Quite bloody differently.”
Murder in the South of France, Book 1 of the Maggie Newberry Mysteries Page 5